


Flawless

by Taciturn



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Also during game setting, Angst, F/M, Feelings, Fluff, Post end game setting, very gentle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 12:16:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16743847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taciturn/pseuds/Taciturn
Summary: Painting his portrait meant a long walk down memory lane for you.





	Flawless

You didn't question how your name reached the ears of those responsible for such a grand task such as painting one of the great figures who assisted with the return of light. Monuments had already been built, and you were sure that there were others with talents much more desirable than your own who would fill the role you were asked to take. Upon looking at the handsome payment you were offered; however, whatever qualms you might have had about the entire world looking at your work were easily brushed aside.

 

No more than three weeks had passed since you accepted your new job. It had always been a lofty, childhood dream of yours to be the one who immortalize the most famed celebrities in a portrait. You never thought that such a dream would com true; yet less than a month after you had received the offer, you found yourself wandering the empty, partially repaired walls of the citadel like an old memory. 

 

The ghostly echoes of footsteps that carried gossiping whispers hadn't changed since the last time you let yourself get lost in the maze of hallways. The scent of dust and burned dreams made your eyes water, and you struggled to keep up with the brisk pace of the guard leading you. The supplies you were transporting rattled behind you in a little carrier that you were dragging. A few times, you had to ask him to pause, embarrassed that you had to maneuver the accursed thing around an obstacle when one of its wheels decided to stick right as you needed to make a turn. Your ankles ached from walking so much. The Citadel felt like a never ending maze, one more vast than the one you held in your memory. After what felt like an eternity of following your guide in circles, you were finally led into a well lit office to set up and wait for your model. 

 

The smell of the sunlight and the warm colors of the room reminded you of the sweet scent of your oil paints. The dust drifting slowly past the long beams were textured like a memory from long ago. As much as you admired the gentle glow of the room, the heat quickly became stifling when the sunlight stagnated on the dark, plush rugs of the floor. You awkwardly cleared your throat and glanced at the latched window in the corner, wondering if you were allowed to touch anything there that wasn't yours. Luckily, even the guard seemed to notice the heat and hastily opened the window to let in the early fall breeze. He was wordless, giving you a quick nod and gesturing at the door before he left you to set up your easel and materials. 

 

In that short interval, you were alone. At last, you let yourself fall into the space and breathed out what jitters you had built up. During your whole trip, a knot formed in your stomach, a tense pressure that built and crawled up your throat. The magnitude of your new job sank into your bones and made you less confident in your abilities with every surviving portrait of a previous king and his retainers that you passed in the reconstructed hallways. That hard knot of tension rested at your throat until the moment you were alone. Allowed to finally be in a space where you could work that anxiety back down, you locked it away in the back of your mind while focusing on the moment. There was a calm in organizing your pencils, the colors, the water, your pallet knife. It was a chaotically organized list of items that only you knew the order of. Everything had its own place, and you were grateful that you had the moment to settle your thoughts along with your paints before your model arrived. 

 

"It's been a long time since we last met." 

 

You gasped, dropping a brush. The clatter of your tool hitting the ground broke the meditative state you had lulled yourself into. Dressed in the most formal of regalia, Ignis had already entered and slid into the chair you had set up for him without a sound. Hurriedly, you picked up the runaway brush before glancing back at him and noticing just how much he had changed in the years since you last saw him. 

 

Time had been gentle on him. It softened his features, allowed his scars to heal and let him grow into the long limbs he had always had. Time had been soft to him in the last years where nothing but terror and darkness surrounded him. If the gods had shown him any appreciation for his hardships, it was for time to let him age gracefully. 

 

"You should have knocked. You nearly scared me to death," you breathed when you could finally hear yourself over the pounding of your heart.

 

"My apologies. I didn't expect you to be here already." 

 

"I'm the guest here, there's no need to apologize." 

 

There was silence that hung awkwardly between the two of you as you stared at him. Scrambling for something to fill the quiet with, you blurted the first thing that came to your mind. 

"You know, you could have just gotten a photo taken. That way you wouldn't have to waste so much time here." Immediately, you regretted every word that came out, the sounds echoing in the room and falling flat across your empty canvas. 

 

"I could have, but it feels... right this way. I feel like he would want it like this." 

 

You sighed, knowing who “he” was, and chose not to press the issue any further. Your fingers trembled just a little as you idly counted your brushes. Trying to regain the calm you just had was proving to be difficult. However, Ignis didn't seem to mind. He patiently waited, already settled down comfortably, legs crossed and facing the window. He didn't have to try to be regal or to look heroic. Just simply being the way he was was enough. Still, a few adjustments could be made for the sake of your professional reputation. You glanced over at him and made a few generic comments about his posture and pose, shifting him in a way that the daylight would flatter him the most. 

 

Your comments eventually derailed into rambles about anything and everything that came to your mind from the weather to how many withering flowers you had seen on your way here; all of the trivial things you could think of to break the awkward stillness that inevitably weighed you down once there was no longer any noise to fill the space between you two. You hadn't noticed it while you were talking, but apparently he had. 

 

"You're nervous," he stated after a rather long ramble about a lengthy article you read the other week. "You act as if you've never done this before." 

  
  


"Well, with how important this is and considering everything, I'm surprised  _ you're _ not nervous at all. I mean, you're only going to be immortalized and if I mess up, then everyone will see for the rest of time and --" 

 

"Enough. There's no point in thinking about the future. Just do what you can now. You can only be in control and reach so far. So, why don't you just do what you do best." 

 

You sighed, knowing he was right. His curt statement stung, but it at least gave you comfort in knowing that he trusted you enough to do well with your given work. There was nothing left to do but to trust his judgment and your own skills to do the best that you could. 

 

Ignis barely breathed as you followed the angles and curves of his face. Dust danced around his head anytime he exhaled, giving you at least one tell tale sign that he was alive. You traced his shoulders, his arms, his hands in silence, focused on capturing his grace just from the way he sat. While you outlined his torso, you made sure to adjust your lines to portray his unwavering loyalty. As your eyes ached from going back and forth between your model and your canvas, you willed your art to show the world just how strong this man was, forever walking tall despite what misfortunes the gods may have bestowed upon him. 

 

Graphite dust somehow got smeared across your face as you went back and filled in his cheek bones and mapped out his features. He had to be regal, proud, impeccable. He was someone who was more than worthy of his given titles. You may have spent too much time trying to accurately capture his facial features before moving on, not noticing how intensely you were concentrating until there was a telltale ache at the base of your neck from being hunched over for too long. 

 

It wasn't surprising to you just how still he was. Even with his stillness, you noted the subtle shifts in his body every now and then. You saw how his eyelashes would flutter whenever the autumn breeze brought in another breath of fresh air. You noticed how his fingers twitched ever so slightly, as if he was writing notes to himself whenever he thought you weren't looking. Despite those minuscule motions, he was silent and a perfect model. a true professional. Not surprising, if you considered who he was and how far he had come. As unsurprising as it was, it was still a bit unnerving when the only sound you could hear was the sound of your own work. 

 

You finally reached a place in your sketch where he didn't have to be so tense. All the basic lines you wanted were there; you would let the details flesh themselves out as the portrait progressed. Stretching, you felt the soreness in your spine pop and shift. Though your hands worked and moved easily across your canvas, you hardly noticed all the strain the rest of your body took whenever you were solely concentrated on your work. A chance to let your muscles loosen was much needed for the both of you. "You can relax your head a bit. I'm just going to work on your clothes now." The shift in his posture was barely perceivable, but you noticed the smile that spread across his face once he was able to breathe a little more freely. 

 

There was something about the way his face immediately softened, when he was at last allowed a chance to recline and take the peace of the room in, that captivated you. Immediately, you thought about changing what you already had in front of you. The expression he held was too fleeting, too pure for you to ever be able to convey with your current skills, so you did the next best thing. You committed to memory that brief smile, his sigh of relief and the fluttering of his eyelashes when he moved. He looked as if he was remembering a fond story told by his best friend -- one with an ending that always ended happily -- and you couldn't help but wonder what that story was.  "What are you thinking about? You seem happy," you asked, glad that he now had the freedom to chat while you worked on etching out details in his clothing. The silence could at least be filled with something more than the scratch of your pencil on the canvas. 

 

"The first time we met. Do you remember that day?"

 

"Of course I do. How could I ever forget?" you said, feeling his smile become contagious as you recalled the details of an afternoon long, long ago. For the first time, the silence between you two was comforting. 

 

**

 

_ The very first time you had the honor of drawing him was during a field trip of all things. The Citadel welcomed many institutions to visit and tour as a way to enrich history and culture among its youth. In your particular case, your art class had come to do some life drawings. During lectures, the professor had emphasized the wonders of architecture that were in there. Having heard him sing praise for so long, it was surreal to finally see the tall, vaulted ceilings and ornate relics in real life. The tour had barely begun; and you itched to create something, anything that you could scrawl into your sketchbook to look back at.  _

 

_ Thus, you experienced the paradox of choice. Everything was overwhelmingly large and simply much grander than any of the paintings you had seen in books or looked up on the net. What had once seemed like a simple hallway on your computer screen at home was in fact a great, looming, intimidating structure that made you feel insignificant. To capture that essence in a simple sketch felt like an insult to the very stones that held up the walls. Even the air felt different to you. Absolutely everything you looked at caught your eye in some way, and you scrambled to scribble what you could while you wandered. No matter what though, it never amounted to something that satisfied you. Eventually, there was just no way you could catch up to the sights you saw and realized that you had to settle on one thing to concentrate on if you wanted to have any pride in the work you produced.  _

 

_ The class slowly dispersed into small groups, meandered into the sanctioned hallways and settled in to make use of their time. While you continued to wander, you couldn't help but overhear a few ambitious peers who boasted about doing multiple drawings in the time allotted. When you had first stepped into the Citadel, you would have agreed with them. Clearly, a place that grand was worthy of several pieces; but now, you struggled to even think of one thing that would keep your attention long enough to concentrate on it. _

_ Whatever you would choose in the end had to be perfect. The first half of your trip had been focused too much on trivial warm up sketches. What came next was a mad scramble for a chance to spend enough time with one subject, one model to create something that felt alive on your paper; and so, your search continued. For all the greatness and history locked in those halls, when faced with the pressure of settling on one subject, suddenly nothing stood out to you. At that point, you had long abandoned your classmates and went wandering on your own, lost in your search for the unknown.  _

 

_ Your feet ached. It never really dawned on you the actual magnitude of how large the Citadel was. Time seemed warped in the endless corridors, and the long beams of sunlight shifted as you kept searching. Over a hundred kings in their glory had left part of their legacies in that grand castle, and not a thing in there seemed to grab your attention as much as he did.  _

 

_ He passed as part of a procession of newly appointed crownsguard. Out of all of them, he stood out the most with his gently swept hair and his glasses. He held a perfect posture even when wearing that exquisitely lavish uniform. Instantly, you were under a spell, and you were drawn in by the aura he exuded. It was different than all the others. It felt stern, steady and comforting. Seeing him apparently also made you lose whatever filter you had. The perfect subject finally appeared, and you weren't about to let it go.  _

 

_ "Please be my model!" you blurted before you could even think clearly about what you had asked. The moment the request came out, you regretted your words and backtracked. There was a clatter of your supplies hitting the ground as you tried skittering back to where you had come; however, with everyone's attention on you, that feat was nigh impossible. _

 

_ As you frantically grabbed at your fallen supplies, you heard a few snickers and some goading from others among the procession. The way he glanced at you made you want to simply fade into the walls and never bother walking through those halls ever again. You hadn't noticed how cold his eyes felt, and the regret of your impulsive request just grew in your chest. The soft laughter of his comrades echoed in your head, their shifty glances making you uncomfortable; and you yearned for any excuse to get yourself out of your current predicament.  _

 

_ Oddly enough, as if the gods had decided to be gentle to you in your embarrassment, he agreed to your insane request.  _

 

_ "And where would you like for me to pose?" he asked, breaking the ranks and bending over to help pick up your supplies. He handed them back to you in a neat pile, expectantly waiting for your answer. "It would be rude of me to deny such an earnest request.” _

 

_ You blinked, hardly able to believe that he had agreed. The snickers and sneering increased and rang loud in your ears. Surprisingly enough, all that was needed to quell their jeers was a quick glance over in their direction from him. You vaguely heard someone bark an order shortly after, and the group of young recruits marched off, leaving the two of you alone.  _

_ "Over... over there will be okay," you said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the nearest window.  _

 

_ If he had any protests, they were lost in your memory. All you could really remember was the floating feeling you had in your chest when you eventually joined him at the windowsill you had pointed to. There, in the sunlight, you were entranced by something else. In that bright light, his clear green eyes looked almost translucent, only serving to accentuate his angular features. Most of all, you became fascinated with the scars that ran down his cheeks which you hadn't noticed before. He, however, noticed where your attention was drawn almost immediately.  _

 

_ "It's a bad habit I have from stress," he mumbled, pointedly focused on staring out the window when he noticed what you were staring at. "I would appreciate it if you didn't focus too much on that..." Against the warm afternoon sun, you noticed just the barest trace of a blush spreading across his cheeks in embarrassment.  _

 

_ "No... they're lovely," you breathed in awe, inching closer to him and eagerly getting to work. From afar, you had seen him as perfect in every way. Your impulse had drawn him away from his duties, and he somehow complied to your your absurd request. There was no reason for him to humor you, but you had taken it in stride. Now, up close, he was even more beautiful than you had expected, blemishes on his skin and all.   _

 

_ You had intended to draw his portrait; his profile was absolutely perfect. However, in the end, you were most mesmerized with his flaws. Your pencil followed the pathway he had picked into his skin. It was an intricate, permanent network of scabs and scars unique to only him. There  were blooming red marks from fresh breakouts which mingled with the dark, dried scabs of older scratches which dotted his cheeks. When you looked at it all together, it reminded you of a well worn and much loved map made of his anxieties and worries. It was all entirely too fascinating to you, and you yearned to keep that map in the pages of your sketchbook forever.  _

 

_ Sunlight warmed the windowpanes and made the little perch the two of you shared a perfect temperature. While your hand flew across the paper, you babbled on, hoping that he would forgive you for being so intrusive. You apologized profusely for taking him away from wherever it was that he was headed to. In return, he promised that there was no reason for you to be sorry.  _

_ "If you really want to apologize, just meeting up for some coffee when you're done with that drawing will suffice. I'd like to see the finish product," he bargained as your latest flurry apologies nearly had you in tears.  _

 

_ "I might never finish it though..." you mumbled, suddenly very self conscious of your surroundings. Your cheeks felt too warm, and the pencil in your hand faltered for a bit. It was rare for you to even like any of your pieces, much less finish any of them."It could take forever. You might forget about it," you stammered, coming up with the first excuse that came to mind to ignore the hammering in your chest. To have such a handsome man ask to see you again felt like a dream, one that you didn’t want believe it was true. Thus, you did the most logical thing and convinced yourself that it wasn’t worth his time.  _

 

_ "You'll be surprised to find out how patient I am."  _

 

_ Odd how things never seemed to go as planned.  _

 

_ "Then... I guess I should get back to work to make sure you see it finished," you replied sheepishly, hiding your face behind your sketchbook so he didn't have to see how easily he made you flustered.  _

 

_ Your pencil didn't seem to stop once you started drawing again. There were so many details you had to capture in the short time you had. After all that was said and done, you had barely etched out much more than the outline of his face. There was a marking that was a ghostly silhouette of his nose and a whisper on the paper that resembled his eyelashes. Most of all though, the thing you recalled most vividly of that rushed day of drawing was the constellation of scars that defined him.   _

 

_ "So this is where you've been hiding all day, Ignis? Would have never guessed you're one to avoid your duties." Whatever pleasant peace you had obtained during those few hours was instantly shattered by his comrade, coming to see where he had gone off to. Having to pause your work felt like coming out of a long daze. You shifted your gaze ever so slightly to the intruder, slightly frustrated that your concentration had been broken.  _

 

_ "To be honest, Gladio, I don't think there were any requirements for me to be at the gathering after the ceremony."  _

 

_ "So you went off to play fashion model?" Somehow, the snicker Gladio gave coupled with his grin left you feeling more embarrassed than you had before in front a whole group of people.  _

 

_ "How crass," Ignis snapped in reply.  _

 

_ "Well, if the shoe fits..."  _

 

_ From there, the two of them devolved into a quarrel that you didn't want to be a part of. Suddenly, the need to disappear came up again, and you found yourself curling up against the corner of the windowsill, hoping that this stranger would leave and let you work in peace again. While they argued, you took a quick glance at your phone and realized how late it had gotten. With a screech that didn't sound human, you scrambled to gather your things and dashed back to where everyone had promised to meet up. Hopefully, if you rushed, you would be able to make it back before everyone left without you.   _

 

_ ** _

 

There was an odd irony in your reality now. You were reliving the same scene you shared so many years ago in a setting much more formal; yet the nerves were still there as if you had never left that sun kissed windowsill. Your attention never had a chance to leave him.There was an odd nostalgia in it all. Once again, you were painting him, focusing on his flaws and how beautiful he was with all his scars.

 

"We never did meet up for coffee, did we?" he asked, realizing that the date he asked for never did come to pass thanks to your hastened departure. 

 

"Well, I have to admit, I made it pretty hard to meet up by running off when I did." 

 

He chuckled in agreement, pausing to appreciate the lightened atmosphere now that the two of you had a memory to share. "Did you ever finish it?" 

 

"No," you admitted. There was a hint of sadness while you fussed with the positioning of his clothing folds on your canvas. "I never got a chance to finish it." You glanced over to his figure, comparing your drawing with his posture. "I guess a part of me was holding off on it. I think I was hopelessly dreaming that I could get the chance to ask you to model for me again." 

 

"Ah, it's a shame I never got to see it, even in its unfinished form. I'm sure it was lovely." 

 

Your breath caught for a second, realizing he never would see any of your works, completed or not. The constant trembling you felt in your hands stilled for a moment when that fact dawned to you, and the poignancy of reality fully sank in along with the sun. At this point, you were ready to start adding colors; but the shift in the sun's light made it hard for you to judge the true colors he wore. Combined with the constant ache in your back that you couldn't ignore, it was a good excuse to call it a stopping point for the both of you.  

 

"The sun's starting to set. Let's stop for the day. I can pick up and start painting tomorrow," you suggested, forcing the awkward silence to break out of the melancholic mood that had set in. 

 

"Has it already been that long? I must have lost track of time while I was in my own thoughts." 

 

"It happens," you shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. Stepping back from your sketch, your doubt started to spread from your chest; and you wondered if the finished product would be as you imagined it. From there you diverged into your habit of filling awkward silence with babbling to cover your jitters.  "You must be tired from holding that pose for so long. Just make sure you stretch a lot before the next time I see you so you won't be stiff. Will it be okay if I leave some of my things here? I don't want to bother anyone with my things. They can just sit in the corner, but it'll probably be easier on everyone involved if they're not in the way. I know I'm probably imposing and it's ru--" 

 

"Of course," Ignis cut off your ramble, interrupting your own imposing thoughts from taking over. "I'll have someone lock the door to keep your things safe."

 

You sighed, grateful for his intrusion stopping you from going off and saying something you would regret later. "Thank you. I appreciate it."

 

"I should be the one who's thankful for having you take care of me again." 

 

This time, you didn't have words for the silence that washed over the two of you. It wasn't awkward, but there was a hint of something uncomfortable in that moment when the two of you were reminded of days when the sun didn't shine much at all. It was a familiar sort of weight that the two of you had shared. Looking back, you could call those memories bittersweet. Dwelling on those thoughts only made a long hidden emotion in you trickle back into your heart. Feelings that you would rather not feel at the moment. Thus, you took it upon yourself to bring yourself back into the present. 

 

"Will the same time tomorrow work? I know it's scheduled already, but I just wanted to make sure there aren't any last minute changes."

 

"That will be fine. I'll be sure to knock next time." 

 

"Great, I'll bring coffee if the weather's nice. To make up for before." 

 

He chuckled at your poor attempt at humor. It was yet another thing he took in stride and didn't question. For the first time since you had met him, you saw him genuinely happy. It was a gentle, soothing sound that welled up from his chest and filled you with a warmth. You hoped you could somehow paint that sound into his portrait. Perhaps you could hide it in a corner as a secret  

 

"Then I'll go to sleep praying for nothing but sunshine." 

 

~~

 

Ironically enough, it rained the next day, and the weight of the weather muddled your thoughts. What motivation you had from the day before had been muffled by the sudden change in weather, and you struggled to keep awake even after having a full night's rest. With the weather being as bad as it was, there was no way that you could bring him coffee, even if you wanted to. Thus, your day started with low energy and an underlying feeling of disappointment while you retrieved your supplies from the corner of the room. 

 

As promised, Ignis knocked before he came in, settling into the same seat and pose as he had the day before. You reassured him that he didn't have to be so stiff this time around. So long as his clothing didn't move around too much, he was free to chat. Though, as if the weather had a dampening effect on his mood as well, he opted to simply quietly sit and doze off to the sound of the rain in the distance. 

 

It was a different sort of quiet this time. As soothing as the rain was, you couldn't help but feel the sadness that still lingered from the last time you were in that room. While he rested, you worked on mixing your colors and pushing sad memories away. However, as it continued to rain throughout the day, you were stuck in a constant loop of the same thoughts. 

 

The first dab of color was always the scariest. The very second paint hit the canvas, it became the moment of no return. From there on, it was up to you and the expertise ingrained in your hands after years of practice to bring your basic sketch to life. As the brush dragged itself down and marked your canvas with bold strokes, you sighed in relief when the colors of reality matched what you had mixed. That relief only helped you gain a little more confidence in your work, urging you into an almost trance like state where you were focused and yet not at the same time. It became easier to accept your work as you laid on increasingly more colors. It also became easier to accept the inherent sadness that permeated through the day. While you pushed and layered the colors around to match the way light reflected off the wrinkles in his clothes, you were reminded just how far you had come since the beginning of your journey. 

 

Often times, people only ever noticed the scars on his face. Life had not been kind to him. The minuscule scars of his youth didn't seem to matter compared to what he was forced to bear now. Often times, the whispers of the street were about the gashes and burns that streaked across his face in an angry splatter.  From what you eavesdropped on from time to time, it felt as though no one ever stopped to wonder just how deeply those scars truly ran. Sure, they had aged well over the years, somehow enhancing his striking features; but they never had the courage to get close enough to notice how that milky colored eye that peered from behind his visor seemed to track more than just light. No one you overheard had ever seen how his high collar easily hid the marks that ran down his neck and further. Of course, only those who had known Ignis for a long time would notice that he still wore gloves, even if they probably hindered his sense of touch. Then again, you supposed it would make sense for him to hide the place where his scars ran the deepest.

 

Tracing the outline of his hands with the color of his gloves brought back memories burned into your mind--memories of years past, when the world was on fire; and you were granted the opportunity to see him again. 

 

"What's on your mind?" you asked, hoping his answer and his chatter would steer your mind away from your memories. 

 

"Ah, not much," he admitted, "Just... being thankful that I have the chance to meet you again after so long. I never did thank you properly for taking care of me." 

 

"That's... it wasn't a problem..." you mumbled, suddenly very aware of your surroundings and your work in front of you. It seemed as though no matter what you tried, the day would lead you to a place you wished you could forget about.  

 

**

 

_ As if the gods themselves knew how fascinated with his scars you were, they gifted you another chance to meet Ignis in the most cruel circumstances.  _

 

_ It was his comrade, Gladio, who had recognized you in the crumbling part of Altissia. After the city surrounded by water was set ablaze, you found yourself wandering the streets dazed and confused over what had transpired. What had initially been a personal vacation to find a dreamy cityscape to paint somehow turned into a nightmare right before your very eyes. You weren't quite sure how long the world around you burned. Both sunrise and sunset were tinged with an ominous red glow that was deeply unsettling. How you were noticed by Gladio was beyond you. He approached with a sense of desperation and with hint of more than a little despair in his words when he asked for your help.  _

 

_ Whatever ill feelings towards him that you had in the past were easily brushed aside by the sheer pain you heard in his voice. What pride he had the last time you had seen him was set aside in an instant when you could hear the pain that emanated from his tone alone.  _

 

_ The initial request sounded simple enough to you. "Can you watch over Ignis for a little bit?" Gladio and another comrade needed some time to rest for themselves and to gather supplies for the next leg of their journey. Surely, it wasn't much to ask for.  _

 

_ When you saw the state he was in, a cold chill ran through every vein of your body. You had assumed that Ignis had sustained injuries from what you could gather, but nothing could actually prepare you for reality when you witnessed the extent of his wounds.  _

 

_ "We'll only be gone for a few hours. If anything happens, I'll send you a message. Make yourself comfortable and call me if anything comes up."  _

 

_ Gladio left no room for reply; it was as if he was in a hurry to leave that room. The click of the latch snapped you out of your stunned state and into the reality that you faced. It was a blur how you had ended up in the situation you were in; but there you were, sitting in that chair next to his bed, counting the seconds which turned into hours too slowly.  _

 

_ Ignis' breathing was so shallow and slight, you had a hard time believing that he was alive at times. They covered him in as little clothing as possible to ensure that his wounds wouldn't fester. However, that meant your eyes couldn't seem to tear themselves away from the blistered and charred splotches on his skin. The ones on his face were the most obvious and prominent; but they seemed to create a road map that lead down his neck, sprawling across his shoulder and trailing all the way down his arms.  _

 

_ The burn marks wound themselves around his wrist and his fingers. You didn't want to admit it, but there was a beauty to it all. You hated to call it pretty, but that was the only way you could describe the winding marks that started on his ring finger which wrapped themselves like vines all the way up his arm and beyond.  _

 

_ As time crawled between the two of you, you passed it as best as you could with small doodles and sketches of whatever you could find in that room. Inevitably, you found yourself tracing the warped and burned marks on his skin, tracing his mangled hand and arm. The silence continued late into the day, much past sunset, though you didn't wonder where Gladio and his friend had gone. Your focus was on the page in front of you, taking in the detail of his hands, committing to memory what pain must look like.  _

 

_ At some point in his dreams, Ignis reached out for someone. His voice was cracked and incoherent in his sleeping state, but you recognized need when you saw it. Inching closer, you timidly placed your hand into his for some sort of comfort. Instantly, he grasped onto you, breathing heavily, tears streaking down his face and the words he mumbled became whimpers. You could only imagine what nightmare he was going through with how hard he was squeezing your hand. At some point, your fingers felt as if they had gone numb. The pain from being clutched so tightly had made you drop your sketchbook and pencil under the bed.  _

 

_ Even when his tears stopped and his breathing stilled, he didn't let go of you. His breathing evened out again after some time, but your hand remained in his up until Gladio finally came back and had to pry Ignis' fingers away from you. The large man sighed as he worked, as if he had an idea of what was going on in his friend's mind, but you hadn't the courage to ask what it could have been.  _

 

_ He sighed again, watching you shake feeling back into your fingers once you were finally free of Ignis' death grip. "I know it's a lot to ask, but... do you think you can do it again tomorrow?"  _

 

_ You looked up at him in bewilderment. The bags underneath his eyes told you novels of what they might have seen. They asked for too much, but you had already seen too much to refuse them. All you could do was nod in agreement and see the relief flit across his face for a brief moment.  _

 

_ "Thank you..."  _

 

_ ** _

 

His voice broke you out of your trance of hard work. A soft cough from his corner of the room told you of the hours that passed without your notice. It was odd, how focusing on what was in front of you could take you away from time itself. 

 

"Do you think it might be time to stop for the day? I haven't heard anything from you for quite some time now." 

 

You were so immersed in your own thoughts and world, it had become easy to ignore any aches your body had. Giving yourself a quick stretch and feeling everything shift and resettle inside of you made you realize just how long you must have been wandering down memory lane. "I'm sorry," you mumbled, quickly cleaning out your brushes, not bothering to wonder if you were at a good stopping point or not. "I guess I lost track of time." 

 

He chuckled, glancing in your direction; and you felt the flush of embarrassment run through your body. "Don't worry, it happens to the best of us. You're only human." 

 

"You should have still said something," you grumbled, "What if you missed out on some of your appointments for the day?" 

 

"Then I guess it was a day well spent. Sometimes even I have to live a little." 

 

The small, mischievous smile that graced his lips when he said that sent your heart a flutter; and you nearly spilled your cup of dirty paint water when you saw it illuminated by the glowing light of the setting sun. "Well, how can I make it up to you for taking up so much of your time today?" you asked, hoping that there was some way to salvage your mistake. 

 

"Well, I would say we could get that coffee you promised now that it's stopped raining. But I suppose it's a little late for that. So, I'll settle with meeting up at the same time and same place tomorrow." 

 

"Yeah.. of course... that's fine..." you managed to answer. He didn't leave time for you to really comprehend his words before he left you alone in that room to clean up. You had planned to sleep early, but the idea he planted in your mind kept it spinning until the sun rose. 

 

~~

 

The rain picked up again the next day, but it didn't dampen your mood any. If everything would work as planned, you would finish your work on schedule. As the days continued to pass, you felt increasingly at ease with him for the long hours he posed for you. There were days where it wasn't necessary to hold a pose at all. Some days, you would focus your attention to his surroundings; yet he still took the time to be there. Whether that was to keep you company or it was an excuse to avoid his other duties for a short time, you didn't know. Regardless, it was welcome company that you grew to appreciate. 

 

Painting backgrounds was the most tedious and boring part of your project. The tiny details always bothered you the most. Though you had spent a significant amount of time already on it, the background never ceased to have yet another thing that you needed to fix or adjust. It was a never ending list of the smallest details that drove you insane. It frustrated you to no end how much time you had already spent on just the shelf of books that sat behind him in the painting. Surely no one would notice that something was slightly amiss in the back. No one but you, and you knew that unless you corrected the near imperceptible mistake, it would haunt you for the rest of your days until something was done about it. 

 

It became the most frustrating part of your project. The days that you dedicated to his surroundings became an unannounced obsession that you couldn't shake off. He was the epitome of perfection, and his portrait would need to portray that. However, no matter how hard you tried, nothing seemed to come out the way you had envisioned it. There was a stint where everything was, simply put, ugly. No amount of pushing your paints around could fix your dissatisfaction towards your work. No matter how hard you kept working, the result seemed to be the same. It was ugly. It would remain ugly until the end. 

 

From there, it was easy for your mind to wander right into a negative space. The doubts you had for your work quickly piled up with each mistake you kept on making. Before long, you had stopped painting all together. Your mind went numb, and the sound of the rain outside filled your ears as you mentally tried to scramble and figure out how to salvage everything. The hazy static of your slump made your mind wander back to a time when the rain was just as loud, and your memories of Ignis took over your thoughts. You weren't sure how long you had daydreamed, but your hand stopped moving and Ignis noticed. 

 

"You stopped painting for a while. What are you thinking about?" 

 

You startled, realizing that no progress had been made for quite some time. You wanted to lie about what was on your mind, but something about his curious tone made it too easy for you to tell the truth. "That time I yelled at you..." you blurted out. 

 

The regret you had towards being honest with him hung in the air for a moment too long. You wanted to take those words back and tell him to forget what you had said. He spoke before you did though, stopping your doubts right in their tracks. 

 

"Ah, I suppose I did deserve that. I was rather insensitive back then. Was it raining that day too?" 

 

"It was. It rained all day long..."   
  


_ ** _

_ It somehow ended up that you traveled with them after caring for him that one time. You didn't have a reason to deny their request. Not with the world basically burning around you the way it was.  _

 

_ Once Ignis was regularly awake, he made it clear how you were not welcome. No matter how you tried to console him, he pushed you away. Despite making it clear to him that you only wanted to help him get better, he was determined to prove to you that you weren't needed. His failure to his duty was scarred across his face. There was no need to talk about it according to him. The dark, barely healed marks spoke volumes for him.  _

 

_ He lived in a stifling silence around you. All of your questions and attempts at small talk were answered with one word. Everything you tried to do to console him was only met with curt replies. He built a wall of silence to protect himself, to protect you from what rage and frustration boiled inside of him.  _

 

_ At first, you wanted to be patient with him. He had gone through the unimaginable. His body was in tatters because of it. You wanted to be understanding to his situation, but you knew nothing. There was nothing short of a few chance meetings and just the barest hint of friendship with Ignis. What his comrades asked you to do on a regular basis while they focused on gathering supplies and information was too much. You could only do so much for him. There was a limit to what you could claim to understand; and in the end, you realized the care you were tasked to give was simply something he refused to receive.  _

 

_ It was impossible.  _

 

_ It became impossible to deal with the exhausting tension around him while he replayed the last thing he saw before his world became dark. It was a never ending cycle of you watching him mentally berate himself over something he had no control over any longer. The past couldn't be changed, but it never stopped him from trying to go back in his mind and going through every scenario possible to change the present he lived in. While the hours passed when he was alone with you, Ignis pointedly ignored you, never asking for your help unless you imposed it onto him for fear of him getting hurt again. Even then, he received your assistance with tight lips and a chilled demeanor that never failed to leave you feeling like you shouldn't be there.  _

 

_ The pain you felt from seeing him silently suffer from day to day was a feeling that he was completely oblivious to. So wrapped up with his own negativity and thoughts, he neglected all of his surroundings. He didn't say it, but you could see him replaying his failures over and over in his head, wondering what he could have done to change the inevitable outcome that he lived in now. The feeling of being suffocated by his dark mood grew with each passing day, hour and minute you were asked to be alone with him.  _

 

_ It was a constant guessing game with Ignis during those long, dreary days. You tiptoed around your words, choosing them carefully in hopes that you could get some different reaction from him; yet, it was always the same--curt, one worded answers that cut you right into your self esteem. It was an ugly side to the calm, controlled demeanor you had initially met him with. When the control was lost and he had no one and nowhere to turn to, it spiraled out of his hands; and he struggled to grasp at what to do. It was watching him repeatedly destroy himself with no end in sight, and it became impossible to deal with.  _

 

_ It was easy to lose track of the days when all you knew was a darkened room. Ignis had requested for the curtains to be drawn at all times. Normally, you would have turned to doodling to pass the time; however, that was out of the question when you had to strain your eyes to even see if Ignis needed anything. Thus, the days melded together into one mind numbing blur in your memory filled with the stifling weight of failure all around you.  _

 

_ Things could only stagnate for so long. You had only so much patience; you had only so much you could understand. Eventually, that weight became too great for you to bear; and there was a breaking point. You couldn't remember what you yelled at him for. The words simply fell from your lips, unfiltered and filled with a frustration you had been holding in since the first day. The words tumbled out, laying in front of him every feeling you had hid from your daily conversations with him. He had sheltered you from his thoughts and feelings, but never considered what you could have been hiding. It never occurred to him how much it pained you or any of the others around him to see him suffering.  _

 

_ It all blurred together to you. Every grievance just came out without any thought, stabbing and wounding his pride that much more. None of the words even seemed to make sense to you at some point. It all became a garbled, sobbing mess of emotions that you spewed out in hopes that he could understand his frustration. Eventually, all that you could remember were your last words to him . "I'm not asking you to change the world. I'm just asking for you to let me in, even a little bit. I just... I just want you to know that it's okay to be human." _

 

_ "You know, for someone who knows nothing, you are truly asking for too much." _

 

_ His reply to your request cut deeply into your chest. It burned harder than whatever you had felt before. The pure rejection he had for any care you could provide him left you stunned, yet there was a truth in his words that you couldn't deny. It was that blunt truth that made you realize you had been delusional all along in trying to help him. He didn't need your help, he never did.  _

 

_ You wanted to call him back when you saw him shuffle out of bed and towards the door. You cursed your impulsiveness and naivety. You had only wanted him to trust you enough to at least consider receiving assistance from you. The truth you were struggling to accept kept you from doing anything. There was no denying that you knew nothing of what lead to the current events. Out of your wish for him to become better, you ignored the uncomfortable atmosphere. Your imposed presence became this ugly, festering tension that boiled over between the two of you. It didn't have to be you; you were nothing special to him. Nothing you did would have changed his mind nor his attitude. That part stung hard--realizing that you had honestly been chosen to help out of convenience.  _

 

_ And while your mind raced with all these doubts, trying to grasp at any reason that you could justify your outburst of frustration, he left. While you wallowed in your mind regretting all of the harsh words you had spat at him, Ignis finally had enough and did the one thing you were most afraid of him doing. He left. And you were powerless to stop him, knowing full well that he was right in his own actions.  _

 

_ You could only watch wordlessly, tears streaming down your face as he stumbled to his destination. Where he planned on going in his condition, you didn't dare ask.. Though it had always hurt when you tried to help him, his obvious disapproval of you being anywhere near him at that moment hurt the most. The sounds of him fumbling to get acquainted with his surroundings rang too loudly in your ears. The infinite number of apologies you wanted to shout at him were stuck right at the back of your throat where you choked back sobs. It was too late; but perhaps, it had always been too late. You had said your piece with him, and you were to accept the consequences as such.   _

 

_ Above all, he wouldn't speak to you. No. You were an outsider to all of them in the end. After all, you were a  mere acquaintance that happened to be useful in their time of need. You could never help shoulder the weight that he burdened himself with. All you were left with was the ability to watch him and pray that he would come to himself on his own. Through your tears and your hoarse throat, the least you could do was remember his pain for him.  _

 

_ So you painted the rain in his name while you watched it wash away his regret. You counted the uncried tears on your page while he stood outside, letting the weather hide his grief and wear away at his already broken pride. You watched as the washes of pastel color dried, and he straightened up with a resolve he didn't have before. Somewhere in the watercolor mess that your shaking hands painted was his silhouette in the dark, soaked in the weight of the world he carried on his shoulders.  _

 

_ By morning, those pages you had painted on fueled the tiny fire that boiled the water for his coffee when he announced that he was well enough to move on.  _

 

_ ** _

 

Time trickled slowly by that day as the two of you dwelled upon the same memories thanks to the melancholy mood. Lost in your minds, time slipped underneath the carpet to the sound of falling rain. With soft sighs that were barely heard above the weather, the two of you were at peace with the past and the actions that lead up to the present. Truly, there were regrets. There was pain from the times you met, but you cherished them nonetheless. You were privileged beyond all belief to have known him in those short times you were together. It was a small secret that you held close against you, guarded jealously and prayed that no one, not even Ignis knew how much you appreciated those short moments you had shared. 

 

It was a strange kind of love, the kind that stemmed from the wish and the want to see nothing but the best of him. However, the gods, being as human as they were, only ever let you see his broken parts. Indeed, you had the oddest sort of adoration for him it seemed; and that love showed in the myriad of colors that were slowly being layered onto the canvas in front of you. 

This time, you made sure to stop before it got too late--before your bones and back protested from being overworked. Even he had noticed how timely you were when you announced that you were done for the day. 

 

"It's rather early to be wrapping up, isn't it?" he asked, surprised when you told him you were done for the day. "I would have expected to be here for a little longer." You could have sworn you saw a trace of a pout on his face while he leaned against the arm of the chair he was in to listen to you clean your things. 

 

"I kept you too late last time. It's only fair that I make it up to you and let you go early today," you explained, "I think everything should be done by the next session so you won't have to worry about posing all stiff anymore after that." 

 

"That's a shame, I had begun to look forward to these appointments." 

 

His words made your heart flutter, making you feel special that he was actually looking forward to sitting still for hours on end with you. Part of you wanted to believe that he looked forward to your company, though the logical side of you reasoned that it was a well needed break from his busy schedule. Regardless of what his reasoning was, you were grateful for it. 

"It is a shame..." you agreed while wiping down the rest of your brushes. 

 

"I suppose I'll just have to schedule another appointment in the future. Perhaps over some coffee," he suggested, the smirk of mischief back on his face, making your heart race. 

 

"Perhaps..." 

 

"I look forward to the finished result. I'm sure it will be a sight to behold," Ignis praised, patting you softly on the head before taking his leave before you. 

 

The rest of the night, you couldn't help but run your hand over the spot he had patted, feeling your heartbeat race when you remembered his kind words, his warm hands and his gentle smile of approval. 

 

~~

 

His face was the definition of serene and being in peace as he leaned towards the warmth of the sun while you painted the last details of his coat. The canvas was heavy with the weight of your sketches, the washes and the oil paints that breathed life into it. Ignis honestly didn't have to be there as your model any longer. You could have simply finished the last details on your own; however, he was persistent in maintaining his appointments with you; and you resigned yourself to letting him do as he wished. 

 

The years you had known him had not been gentle. Time had been ruthless to him, changing him drastically each time you saw him. Still, the image of him being so comfortable with himself now came to you as a wash of relief. You liked to imagine that yelling at him years and years ago had attributed to his change somehow. 

 

There was the barest curl at the corner of his lips and you could hear him hum softly while he let his mind wander and his skin drink in the light. It was as if he was listening to the sun speak to him. The way he smiled gently, it was as if he was hearing an old friend tell a familiar story from long, long ago. Oddly enough, the more you listened to his humming, the more it sounded as if he was responding to a question he heard in a distant memory. 

 

When he parted his lips just slightly, the smile broke for a brief moment; and you could hear his thoughts come to a halt. If you hadn't peeked over the corner of your canvas then, you would have missed the moment where he had to take a few deep breaths to recompose himself when he became too involved in his thoughts. It wasn't your place to pry, yet you couldn't help but wonder what could put him in a mood like that. A part of you thought you knew the answer having seen the man before you go through so many changes. However, there were certain instances, like this one, where it was best to leave things as they were. The curiosity could be left alone. There was no need to prod at old wounds or pick at scabs that were just beginning to finally heal. 

 

You didn't dare interrupt him during the calm the two of you had settled into; so while he worked on letting his thoughts start at the beginning of a happy memory again, you let your own mind wander and drift back to the last time you saw him at peace. 

 

**

 

_ The train rocked itself back and forth, eventually lulling Ignis to a light sleep. You were about to part ways. The next leg of their journey was much too dangerous for a civilian to follow them around. Hell, it had probably been too dangerous for you to stick around them for as long as you had.  _

 

_ There were only a few more stops, and you would gather what courage you had to tell them all goodbye. You had maybe an hour and a half left before you had to wish them god speed and good luck on their journey. The air in the train was thick with tension, and there felt a looming feeling of dread that felt darker than the fresh scars on Ignis' face.  _

 

_ Despite that, the long train ride had eased Ignis into brief moment of well deserved peace. Leaning against the window, you watched as the stress on his face slowly melt away until there was nothing but an expression of serenity.  _

 

_ There was a deep, lingering guilt that weighed your chest down as you counted the stops you had left before you finally parted with them. It was a draining, exhausting guilt that lingered from the very night that you had yelled at him. He had seen and touched the end of the world yet you still found the gall in you to chide him for being upset. The words you had spewed burned at the back of your throat, forming a ball of regret and shame that you couldn't get rid of no matter how hard you swallowed.  _

 

_ In that thick silence that you shared, you quietly retracted all the bile and venom you had thrown at him. You took back all the frustration you had and wadded it up, throwing it out the window, hoping he would forget, wishing that he could hold onto the current fleeting moment of tranquility until he woke up and found the strength again to take on the world.  _

 

_ Since that day though, he seemed to have changed somehow. The determination he always had seemed to be stronger. The silence that he lived in began to ease a little. Though he still wouldn't speak to you about many things, preferring to wait until Gladio or Prompto came back from their errands for the day, the oppressive atmosphere did lift a little. He allowed small things as the last few days passed, and he was still in your care. The curtains were pulled back, letting much needed light and air into that room. He let you read to him from time to time. It didn't matter to him if you chose a textbook to read or a novel. What mattered was that he had a way to sense how much time had passed with the pace of your reading. Occasionally, he would simply lean back on the bed, staring out to the distance while you sketched the skyline of a broken city.  _

 

_ Ever so slowly, through the span of a few short days, he let you in. It wasn't much, but it was enough for you to breathe easier and for him to recover enough to move on. Perhaps it was too much to ask him to be human, but maybe it was enough to ask him to change. All too soon, you had all boarded a train that would lead to your final goodbyes.  _

 

_ It felt improper for you to interrupt his slumber when the train arrived at your stop. You didn't have the heart to wake him from what little peace he had managed to wrestle back into his mind, so you bade him farewell as best as you could. Your parting came in a whispered a goodbye and a small gift left at his side for when he awoke.  _

 

_ The glasses you left with him reminded you of the brilliant green of his eyes when you first met him. Clear and bright, you had been afraid to capture their light when you were enamored with the pockmarks and scratches on his face. In a strange way, it was an apology to him. You had always payed attention the most to his scars and not him. He stirred just the barest bit, wrapping his fingers around the gift; but he didn't wake. You accepted it as his way of acknowledging your well wishes.  _

 

_ Perhaps, the next time the two of you met again, you'd be able to properly paint him. If that day ever came, you swore to yourself that the end result would be absolutely flawless.  _

 

_ If that day ever came, perhaps you could properly apologize to him for never truly seeing him. _

 

** 

 

It was surprising to you that he kept that relic from so long ago. Even more shocking was that he wore it on a regular basis. There was a strange feeling to know where those green tinted glasses he wore came from. It was stranger still to know that your gift would be immortalized by your own hands--strange, but comforting. 

 

When evening began to set and the sun slowly sank past the horizon, the last mark was added to his portrait. A streak of bright white to highlight the sun which reflected off his glasses became the final addition you made to your work. In your haste to finally be done with everything, your name was a messy scrawl right at the corner of your work. To your dismay, you didn’t realize that the paint was still wet in that corner and it smudged a letter of your name here and there. Not that it mattered, no one would be looking for your name. Everyone would be looking at him in all his glory. 

 

You sighed in content, leaning back in your chair and nearly throwing your paintbrush into the cup of dirty water in front of you. Seeing the final product before you, the constant ache and tension built up in your shoulders from stress simply melted away. The incessant throbbing headache of anxiety and self doubt that settled behind your strained eyes since the beginning of the whole project slowly began to fade now that you no longer had to be so hyper focused on your work. Stretching, you felt every bone in your body pop and resettle before you reassessed your work one last time. 

 

"It's done?" Ignis asked, looking up from where he sat, "Or are we taking a break?"

 

"It's done," you confirmed as you started to clean your tools. There was a sense of sadness, now that your project was complete. You had grown used to the long hours of quiet with him while you worked. There was a ritual almost in waiting for him to settle into his spot when the sun was high and letting him sit in peace while your mind wandered from memory to memory. 

 

"It's lovely," he said, walking around to your side of the canvas. You couldn't quite tell if he was joking or not with the way he stood with his arms crossed and his blank gaze staring just above your work. But, there was a sincerity in his word that gave you a warm feeling that spread across your chest and made the tips of your fingers tingle. 

 

"You can tell?" 

 

"Indeed. I can feel all the care and time you've spent with me in this piece and I cannot thank you enough for that." 

 

"Just coffee after work will do," you teased, poking his cheek gently, prodding an old acne scar that refused to fade. 

 

"This time, it's a promise," he replied, pressing his lips ever so softly against your forehead in praise. 

 

Who knew, kisses smelled like old, drying memories and a promise of coffee. 

  
  
  



End file.
